


Unbroken

by notavodkashot



Series: Soulbinding [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after becoming the True Avatar, a fever and a dream help Aang finally understand what his old Master meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally written in 2006]
> 
> Okay. I tried to convince myself that it was a bad idea. I really did, but it was too late, the obsession had sunk its clawed fingers on me. Oh well. Experimental first time with the fandom and the characters, though I love them both already. The start of a little series I have in mind. Consistent – mostly – with the first two seasons, afterwards, it’s just my imagination run wild.

_This is a bad idea_ , Aang thought wryly as thunder cackled around him in bright bolts that threatened to shatter the earth in a single blow. But then again, he had always had bad ideas. Most of them worked out in the end, _most of the time_ , but Sokka wasn’t so far off the mark when he threatened to strangle the young Avatar morning, noon and night.

Really, he deserved it.

_Some times._

_This is a **bad** idea._ Momo chirped miserably, snuggling against him as he tried to disappear into his clothes and escape the chill in the air. Winter would arrive soon, and the highest mountains would sink into the snowed beauty that was so rare in the Land of Fire. Appa moaned pitifully as another burst of lightening struck past them; nervous and uncomfortable as they flew through a climate that seemed bent on showing its worst for them.

He was wet, tired, nursing a slight headache – he was _never_ drinking anything but water or tea again – and now, apparently, he was lost as well. Not that it really mattered, but it seemed hopes of a dry night completely eluded him. _This was the worst idea **ever**._ Clicking his tongue with resignation, the young Avatar motioned Appa lower, towards the soaked grass at the feet of the mountain trail and silently sent a prayer. He didn’t ask for much, really, just a tiny natural cave that would save him from adding ‘exhausted’ to the list of maladies he was nursing already.

Earthbending in the middle of a thunderstorm was not what it was chalked up to be.

“Right,” His voice almost got lost against the roaring of the elements around them. For some reason, however, he found himself content, calm amidst the storm, “Momo, why am I out here again?”

The lemur, of course, didn’t answer, just burrowed deeper into his shirt and tried to ignore the cold. Aang wondered about his own sanity sometimes. Then, as Appa hovered lower, instinctively looking for shelter, Aang caught sight of a body lying under the unforgiving weight of the rain, unmoving. The young Avatar motioned towards him with the reins, and the flying bison landed nearby. Aang jumped from the saddle, much to Momo’s displeasure, and walked warily towards the dark shape a few paces away.

_Oh dear, no… nonononononono…_

But even as he stood there, struggling to figure out _why_ he was suddenly so recalcitrant to accept the vision before him, Zuko remained unconscious, blissfully unaware of the myriad of emotions he was provoking. And the horrible cold he was going to get once the rain stopped.

Aang wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

 

* * *

  

Zuko groaned and decided the universe hated him. _Fervently._ His head ached and there was a bothersome stuffiness pushing against his temples and his nostrils, leaving him with a terrible realization: to top all the weight already crushing him to dust… he had a cold. Moaning pitifully, he twisted on his bed, only to discover, quite surprised, that he was _not_ sleeping on his bed, but rather entangled in a warm mass of fur. A warm, moving, _breathing_ mass of fur.

_Dear ancestors, please, **no**._

“You know,” Aang said cheerfully, far too loudly for Zuko’s brain to handle it properly and certainly far too _happy_ for Zuko’s liver to stomach it at any given time, “We really ought to stop meeting each other like this.”

The Firebender stared at the Avatar – a far cry from the little brat he remembered from their travels across the world – and snorted. They had changed, both of them; gotten taller, stronger, _older_ , but they were really just themselves, and Zuko was in no mood to deal with that strange feeling of being _bare_ that the Avatar had always inspired in him. Whenever they had found themselves alone, the annoying brat had always managed to strip him of his title, his rank, his dishonor, his _everything_ , until only Zuko remained, and he _hated_ it.

Aang had fully expected a blast of fire to his face – really, it was Zuko’s trademark ‘hello’ in the best situations – but nothing came. The Firebender stared at him for a moment, a shadow flickering behind his eyes, before he turned and buried his face into Appa in a childish attempt to ignore him. The Avatar blinked. That was… unexpected.

“Um,” He tried again, “I’m sorry about your clothes, but you needed to get out of them to avoid getting sick,” Nothing, “They’ll be dry and warm soon…?”

_So that’s what happened to them_ , Zuko thought distantly, realizing he was not wearing his own clothes but a robe that felt itchy against his bare skin. Outwardly, he gave no signal of having heard him, and Aang resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _So it’s going to be like that? Fine._

He had traveled far and wide across the world, more so after Ozai and Azula had been defeated, and he had met and seen and talked to people that by all rights belonged only to lore. He had overseen the rebuilding of the Southern Water Tribe, now lead by a matured Sokka who wanted nothing more than to keep his people safe. He had seen the slow awakening of the titanic Earth Kingdom, now that their King actually _bothered_ to look after his subjects. He had found three monks and a nun, still trained in his old art, hidden away from the world in the depths of mountains, where the hope had been preserved at the cost of itself. Most importantly, he had seen the slow unraveling of the Fire Nation’s war machinery, under the careful tutelage of a man that valued the individuals more than the insignias.

And after all he had seen, all he had known, Aang knew no one quite like Zuko to put a dent in that precarious balance he always tried to maintain within himself. If he wanted to be difficult, heaven help him, Aang knew he _would_ be the most difficult git in the world to deal with. _Right._ Aang watched the steady raise and fall of the Prince’s shoulders, heard the raspy quality to his breathing, and sighed. _Some Avatar you are. You can bring about world peace but you can’t have a civil conversation with your… occasional ally? No longer mortal enemy? Terribly exasperating charge that seems just as content with catching pneumonia and leaving you to deal with the aftermath on your own?_

Aang blinked.

_Must stop thinking in third person, it’s not healthy._

And then.

“I’ll make tea.”

Zuko said nothing, breathing shallowly and trying to ignore his aching lungs. Outside, thunder growled and the sky flashed with the wrath of nature. Appa snorted in his sleep, with Momo curling underneath one of his front pawns, trying to keep themselves as warm as possible.

Aang resisted the urge to throw his hands up in the air, and set a little pot with rain water by the fire.

Watching it boil, he decided, was less troubling than wondering just _what_ he was doing.

 

* * *

 

 “Uncle died.”

Aang mentally congratulated himself for not dropping the cup in his hands, and let out a slow breath. Keeping silent, he walked over to where Zuko was glaring at the storm outside, and knelt by the quiet Prince gracefully. Zuko said nothing when he received it, and Aang wondered just _when_ was he going to explode. The young Avatar sat at a respectful distance from him, propping his back against one of Appa’s legs, letting his eyes drift down to the happily chirping fire.

 “I’m sorry to hear that,” He resisted the urge to snuggle against Appa, opting instead to watch as Zuko drank the tea slowly, pensive.

The final battle against Zuko’s father, now commonly known as the Battle of the Eclipsed Sun, had left its impression on everyone, but perhaps not so clearly on anyone as Zuko. The open betrayal by his father and his sister had been so harsh, the young Avatar had felt something within himself reach out for the heartbroken Prince. But it had been Zuko’s timely intervention that had given Aang enough time to call forth all his power to put a final stop to the Fire Lord’s ambitions and bring about peace. They hadn’t become friends, though, but something in the way Zuko jerkily told off Aang and his promises of friendship had made the Airbender understand that there wouldn’t be any more direct confrontations between them.

And there hadn’t been.

Unexpectedly, Zuko refused the throne of the Fire Nation, instead placing Iroh at the head of the smoldering war titan, set on righting his father’s wrongs, one by one. The scarred prince remained within the confines of the palace, training to become stronger and generally avoiding the public eye again. However, his uncle had a few problems keeping peace the first few years, and Aang had been forced to intervene between the fallen empire and its neighbors, all of which were rather eager in extracting revenge after a hundred years of violence.

But things had cooled down after a while, now that the Avatar was there to keep the balance and protect the fragile peace. Alliances had been formed, old bonds of trust and friendship spreading across the world, races greeting each other not as _brothers_ , but certainly not as enemies anymore. Aang had overseen it all, keeping his eyes open to any misdoings that could destroy all his work, and always ready to lend a charitable hand.

Yes, the world wasn’t perfect – would never be, in truth – but they were adapting, growing closer to the dynamic land it was meant to be. No element ruled over another, no nation was weaker the others, and as Aang awoke every morning, he could smile and wander about - always wandering, because it was what he could do best – and acknowledge it proudly.

He had done it. _He_ , Aang, not the Avatar or just another reincarnation, _him_.

There were things, though, that not even the power of the four elements or the spirit of the planet itself could mend; broken hearts were the most prominent example of a theory that Aang had no desire to test. Katara, he remembered with a wince, had been proof enough.

“Everyone dies,” Zuko shrugged casually – far too casually, in Aang’s opinion – and took another sip of the tea, “In due time.”

The Avatar made a small sound in the back of his throat, watching the Prince stall around the tea. Instead of making a comment regarding Zuko’s very obvious attempts to ignore the situation – and his apparent failure at it – Aang grinned sheepishly.

“It tastes horrible, doesn’t it?” When the firebended startled, he added, “The tea. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Golden eyes peered at him, the reply not skipping a beat.

“Positively hideous.”

Aang barked a laugh, flushing as he shrugged helplessly. It was surreal, to tell the truth, he and him and them, leaning against Appa, waiting for the storm to be over and drinking horrible tea that was supposed to help with their respective colds. But then again his – friendship? Not likely – _relationship_ with the prince had been nothing short of surreal. Their fights, their shaky alliance, their strange synchronization with one another… Aang was sure Iroh had been the main reason why Zuko had stopped being actively aggressive towards him, and he could only wonder what would happen now that the old man was gone and the prince would have to fend for himself.

“Katara always said I didn’t have an ounce of healer within me,” Aang grinned, scratching his chin as he watched the shadows dancing across the wall, “But it’s supposed to help, I think.”

Zuko graced him with one last glance – _I’m not even worthy of a glare now?_ – before he set his eyes on the small fire before them. The flames danced merrily, casting a warm orange glow into the cave and making the bison’s fur seem golden.

The prince traced the lines of each flame, not really feeling the heat, plunged as he was in the numbness of loss itself. He wouldn’t have realized the tea was horrible if the brat hadn’t pointed it out. _Dead._ He closed his eyes, breathing in the strangely putrid scent of rain, wet fur, tea and soil; the constricting hand around his heart tightening in reflex. _Uncle’s dead._

Silence stretched between them, awkward and oppressing, periodically broken by a snore from Appa or a raucous thunder outside.

“There will be war,” With far more care than Aang would have guessed, Zuko placed the empty cup down, not bothering to look at him, “The Earth Kingdom won’t sit back and wait for the new Fire Lord to stand up to them.”

“If said lord makes a habit of walking around under pouring thunderstorms, they won’t _have_ one.”

Grey eyes alight with a strange wry mirth, Aang smiled gently as he placed his own cup down. As bad as the taste had been, he felt the warmth of the tea spreading through him, chasing the possible cold and the chill away. His throat ached slightly, though, and he wondered if he would need to take some time off at the nearest temple. Zuko gazed at him strangely, as if he were looking for something and unsure of _what_ exactly it was.

In a blinding moment of awareness, Aang realized Zuko was lost. Lost as he had been, the day he came out of the iceberg, all those years ago. Lost in a world that he didn’t recognize anymore, pieces torn and scattered in such a way, it was impossible to see it all, much less understand. Aang understood loss, but he respected it. He respected Zuko more than he cared to admit, even to himself. Aang had never had a reason to doubt his own purpose, not since that fateful day when the elders had presented him with his destiny. Zuko had had his fate rearranged so many times, in so many ways, it was impossible to tell which was the original path anymore. And yet… yet he hadn’t broken.

Aang marveled at the fact, watching as the future sovereign of the Fire Nation fell into a light sleep, probably dozed by the heat of the fire and the tea. Zuko had never broken down, not when he was exiled, not when he was betrayed, not when he was defeated. He hadn’t broken, and he wouldn’t.

_Unbroken_ , and with that last thought in mind, Aang surrendered himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, sneaky!”

Monk Gyatso laughed in delight as he raised his hands, admitting defeat. Aang beamed at him, intensely proud of himself as he won the game. Pai Sho was far more complicated than he had thought at first, but the old man had a certain way of making even the most exasperating activities fun. Every day was a new adventure, he always said with twinkling eyes, and one should be thankful for the chance of experiencing it.

“I don’t know how I did it,” The young Airbender admitted sheepishly, “It just… happened.”

“The best things in life come all by themselves,” The monk smiled, “All you have to do is let the currents guide you, Aang, and have faith in the future.”

  
The boy nodded, as always storing the words away to meditate on them and dissect their meaning in the privacy of pre-dawn hours. It was always that way between them, little drops of wisdom carefully diluted among the daily drill of training and stolen moments of freedom. Things to be kept secret forever, to not be shared with anyone else, moments that were his and his alone; things that nothing would ever change, that others wouldn’t understand. Things that he was ready to defend at all costs.

A crash somewhere below the window stopped the unrealized Avatar from replying, and he startled. The old monk, however, merely rose from his seat with a certain graceful dignity that Aang longed for when he took enough time to ponder about it, and looked out into the sunbathed patio with definite amusement. After a moment to gather his wits around him, the boy reached for his master, blinking when he caught sight of the mess of shattered crystals below them.

“Come, Aang,” Whirling around, Gyatso walked out of the room, not waiting to see if Aang would follow him, since he knew the boy would anyway.

Wondering what his master was up to now, Aang walked down the peaceful corridors and felt a small smile gracing his lips as he did. Life was always so exciting when his master was involved; everything looked so vibrant, so alive when Gyatso made him look at it in that peculiar way of his. One day, Aang thought with a smile, I’ll make him come visit Piao Dai with me. At the thought of the rebellious sorceress of the Earth Kingdom, Aang grinned.

“Look now, can you see it?”

It took Aang a moment to realize they were standing before the remains of a shattered window – one from the meditation room, it seemed, by the dark blue and bright red shards among the mess; one of Monk Lao’s stained-glass windows most likely – but before he could ask what he was supposed to see, it happened. The sun was setting in the distance, and its rays hit the storm of glass before them just so, a thousand glints rose up to meet Aang’s mesmerized eyes. A kaleidoscope of colors that shimmered once, twice, forever, the beauty in the chaotic array engraved distantly on the young boy’s mind as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

 There is no thing more beautiful, Aang, than a broken thing that glints weakly under the last rays of the sun, ethereal until you realize it is a whole on its own,” The monk was smiling at him, blurred and hazy, like the horizon at sunset, slowly dissipating like mist before dawn.

“A whole?” Aang asked the man that was no longer there, standing in a temple that was no longer there and contemplating the shattered glass, all sharp edges and pointed corners, knowing he would regret it, but not being able to stop himself from reaching a hand out to it.

“A whole.”

Aang looked up, found Iroh looking down at him amidst the darkness that had befallen him, dressed in the imperial robes he had been wearing last time they had played Pai Sho together. He was smiling.

“Don’t let him break.”

 

* * *

 

Aang awoke with a start, blinking as the ceiling of the cave came into focus, and smiled when he noticed the rain had stopped at some point. Momo chirped somewhere near him, but Aang froze when he saw him. The lemur was standing on Zuko’s chest, peering curiously at the sleeping Prince as it chirped again, trying to call attention to himself.

“Momo!”

The Airbender scrambled to grab him when he pressed his paws against Zuko’s nose in a little maneuver he used constantly to wake up Aang when he was hungry. He managed to grab the ball of fur and roll away just in time as the slumbering Prince sneezed loudly, a fireball escaping his lungs as he did. _The tea didn’t work so well after all,_ Aang thought ruefully as Momo clung to his left hip, staring wide eyed as the groaning royal.

“Wha-“ Zuko blinked away sleep, golden eyes adjusting to the dim light until they settled on the lanky man standing a few feet away from him, “Avatar?” _Why is his tunic singed?_

“The name is _Aang_.” Sighing in fond exasperation, the gray-eyed young man sat next to the remains of the fire, blowing softly at them to revive them, and tried to concentrate on making more tea, “You look dreadful, Zuko. Do you want to change back into your clothes?”

He received a glare for his efforts, not the scariest by far, and he shrugged it off as the prince grabbed the bundle of his clothes and stalked to the end of the cave, where it was dark enough to mantain modesty. He had nothing Aang had never seen before, of course; the very night before, even, since he had had to change the feverish prince out of his soaked clothes, but dignity was dignity, and for Zuko, it was a precious thing that had to be treasured.

While Aang browsed through his bag in search for something to make tea with, Zuko took stock of his miserable condition and concluded that for all his dreams of becoming Fire Lord, having a cold had never fit in them.

Fire Lord.

Zuko took a shuddering breath as the weight of the implications fell on him and immediately felt a headache settling between his temples. Sitting with far more grace than he felt capable of at the moment, the disgruntled Firebender tried to kick some semblance of order into his mind, as he had intended in the first place when he decided to take a walk out into the mountain trail. Not that _that_ had been a very bright idea, in retrospect, but it could be worse, right? Already, he could make out the council gathering, now that Iroh’s remains had been burnt as per ritual and the new lord would rise. All those eyes, staring at him, judging, expecting him to be his father’s son, to be…

“You’ll be a good Fire Lord.”

Zuko startled again, flickering his eyes to the fire, which Aang was poking without looking at him. The Prince narrowed his eyes, the Avatar remained impassive, the lemur chirped and the bison snorted.

Outside, the world woke to the mist that slowly evaporated under the sun.

 

* * *

 

“When I come back, we're gonna spar.”

It wasn't a question. Zuko raised an eyebrow as Aang sat comfortably on the saddle. That wholly annoying lemur was chirping happily as it curled by his master's side and the prince – no, he wasn't a prince anymore, was he? – felt the strange urge to set it on fire. Just because.

“Oh?” his throat wasn't cooperating with him; it still felt sore and patched, turning his attempt at a derisive snort into a sorry croak that made him hold back a wince.

Aang wouldn’t be there when they crowned him and bathed him in the glory he rightfully deserved, but Zuko told himself it was fine. Why would he want the brat to be there? Just because he gave him putrid tea and didn’t ask bothersome questions?

“Bare hands,” The Avatar told him with a smile – _dear lord, does he ever stop smiling?_ Zuko wondered, “You owe me.”

“Indeed.”

He tried to make his tone as dry as he could, feeling marginally better with himself when he managed to keep the cough at bay. Aang said nothing, merely continued to smile at him for a moment longer, before his hands tightened on the reins.

“Yip yip!”

And he was off, flying high in the sky, away and into the unknown. Zuko watched him as he disappeared, swallowed by the endless blue, and allowed himself a ghost of a smile, almost a smirk, as he shook his head. That brat was never going to learn, was he? Iroh would have smiled, if he could have seen him. Might have even said he had matured, now that he hadn’t killed the brat. But Iroh was gone, and Zuko was alone. It didn’t mean, however, that he would not honor the memory of his beloved uncle. He had the sinking feeling that the air-brained, animal-loving, tea-disaster of a brat knew. The amber-eyed young man thinned his lips and felt something inside him tell him it wouldn’t be the last time he found himself face to face with the Avatar.

“...When you come back, then,” He told no one in particular, and decided that he might as well go back.

The Fire Nation needed a Fire Lord, the very best they could have, but at the moment, they would have to settle for him.

Zuko snorted, and began the slow trek back to civilization.


End file.
